The Stare
by JennySweetie
Summary: He's always there, he's always watching her. She is constantly aware of his stare and always searching for his eyes. If she finds the source of the stare, her world will never be the same. The line separating two worlds will disappear.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue – And So it Begins

_Thump... thump... thump... thump..._

The rhythm of my feet pounding the surface of the pavement kept me in my trance. The steady beat freed me of the erratic thoughts that now flew freely through my mind. It allowed me to escape the reality that had come crashing down upon me just a day before.

My heart and body ached for something, for someone that doesn't exist. My skin prickled from the unknown sensations that were performing renovations in my body. My mind was utterly exhausted from the non-stop thoughts, regardless of the pace of my strides I was getting another migraine. The little lights were blinking across my field of vision. The inevitable pain started to grind its way into my temples.

Yet my mind never settled. Even now, when I was doing the only thing that gives me focus, my mind was moving at a lightfast speed. Running always gives me an escape, it gives me a reason to try and forget everything.

This evening I ran for hours. I always run until my legs give out and lose feeling; the lack of feeling finally puts my mind to rest, it finally becomes clear. I can forget everything. But the very thing that I was running from, the eyes, the smell, the feeling of his strong arms, are things I truly did not want to forget. I didn't want my run to erase the feel of his eyes on my body. I never wanted to forget the comfort that it gave me.

Up until last night I had never seen the emerald globes, I could only feel that they were there, watching and protecting me every single day of my life. It was unbelievably frustrating to find that every time I turned to secure the source of the gaze, I could never hone in on it. It was like looking for the eyes of someone who knew my mind, who knew the exact moment at which I would turn my head and search fruitlessly. It infuriated me for years. I felt like I was going crazy.

Only recently did I come to expect the stare, comforted by it. I got a strange sick sense of security from the consistency of the gaze, I liked that it never left me alone, I loved it. At night when I crawled into bed, I searched using every sense except for my sight for the warmth and the caress of the gaze. It was all I needed to fall asleep. The stare became my security blanket; something that I knew was constant and would never disappear.

When I wasn't contemplating my insanity I pondered its origin and why it never relented. The eyes had been with me since I was a child and consequently I couldn't fathom its disappearance. But after last night and the disappearing act it performed, I found that I had a jagged hole gouged into my heart. I felt like a part of the very core of my being had been ripped from my chest. Running was taking the last of the breath from my body, because without the comfort of his gaze I didn't inhale naturally. My breaths were short and raspy, a feeble attempt at bringing oxygen into my body. Breathing felt like razors ripping my lungs to pieces. It felt like razors, razors and an atlas stone. Cutting and compression. All of the air was being forced out.

I was painfully aware of how reliant I had become upon the security of his eyes.

Last night, before the pain was given freedom to consume me I was given a glimpse into the angel behind the gaze. He is glorious, captivating creature that possessed a part of my soul. My missing puzzle piece.

As he held me in his arms and told me that things were never going to be the same for me again, I had no inclination as to what he meant. I was too absorbed in the feeling of his hand holding mine over his heart, his arm around my waist, and his soft, circling caresses on the small of my back. The feeling of his long, lean muscular body pressed into mine was like dipping your foot into a warm bath. It sent chills up my spine and set a fire between my legs.

The heavens had a divine plan when the created him. His every angle fit against mine. Where my body curved away his form curved towards me. Where my form was leaned in, he was leaned away. Our bodies were cast together, he was my negative.

His scent is intoxicating. He smelled of a distinct blend of sandalwood, cinnamon, cool breeze, summer, and raw man. I want to bathe myself in his musk. I want to escape and feel surrounded by his scent, to have it forever burned into the skin below my nostrils. His scent would haunt my memory forever; nothing will ever smell as sweet to me.

I stopped running, my body was clammy and there was hardly a drop of sweat running down my face. I wasn't exactly been running slowly, I wouldn't call sprinting the last 2 miles slow. I should be sweating profusely and utterly exhausted.

What the hell was happening to me?

My mind wasn't clearing, it was circling around the same face, his face. Even though I was frustrated at my lack of control I had over my own mind, I wasn't upset at the fact that I was thinking about him. I was more upset that I was responding this way to a complete stranger. I only met him briefly, we were only together for fifteen minutes at most. Of course, it was the most memorable fifteen minutes of my life. And he wasn't really a stranger was he? If it was truly him, then I had known him for my entire life.

No.

It wasn't that I was thinking about him that that pissed me off, it was that I was losing control over myself. It was my body's response to this ungodly situation that had me overwhelmingly aggravated. What was worse is that my body's reaction to this turn of events only solidified its reality. It meant I really wasn't crazy. I feel my body changing. Even now it's accommodating each second of newly revealed surroundings. The hairs on the back of my neck responding to slight changes in the wind, and my nose was now acutely aware of any and all smells around me.

I felt warmth start to stir in the pit of my belly, coals were being stoked to life. Everything was changing, nothing would be the same. Just like my guardian angel said.

The road I assaulted with my feet seemed cooler now, I could feel the chill of the pavement through the soles of my running sneakers. I walked over to the nearest tree taking in all of my surroundings. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned sideways against it, looking out at the small pond next to the road. The pond was still, the autumn leaves had fallen on its surface.

Autumn, my favorite time of the year. The smell in the air was beautiful, almost as beautiful as his particular mouthwatering scent. Autumn had a distinct smell; it was a dance between rain soaked leaves and air that bit at your nose, air that promised a snowfall.

The fall brought with it so many of my favorite things; comfy clothes came out of the attic and there was a never ending supply of sausage stuffing. During the fall the world seemed to slow down just a bit. Before a few days ago, I had imagined that I would be slowing down with it.

But now, now what?

Some imaginary line that existed was crumbling, and apparently I was the only one able to stop it from bringing the world into chaos?

Bullshit. Fuck you, go jump off a cliff. They make pills for that shit. I can get you some, I have a script.

I don't believe in that kind of crap. Jesus Christ, I'm working towards my PhD. I'm going to be a fucking scientist, a researcher. Everything I knew, everything that I believed in was based upon fact. What is tangible is what is real, the intangible doesn't exist to the scientific mind.

But my mind was forever the contradicting bastard.

A mind, which is in fact what I was studying, is intangible. The worlds of science had yet to record and see a thought, or an emotion develop from the depths of our unconscious. These constructs are intangible. Science showed those thoughts in action in the behaviors that manifested, or see the emotions on our faces, but where did they come from? If these feelings and emotions are intangible then what I felt for him, the emotions that made me knees weak wouldn't exist. They were real. They were as real as the tree I was leaning against.

My migraine is getting worse.

I needed to address the dreams. What about the dreams, are they real? I'm not crazy, and yet I swear that some of the dreams I have had in my life were nothing short of pure surreal bliss. The reaction of my body after one sensual dream in particular was very real. I needed a cold shower when I managed to drag myself away from his roaming hands and his talented fingers. I've had visions of his vivid green eyes. I have had dreams where his eyes would follow the path of his hands as they sweetly caressed my shoulders, or he would run them possessively across my stomach, causing my muscles to flutter in his wake.

Does my body's response to those dreams make them a reality?

No.

They were not.

This invisible line is a part of that same delusional world. I would never see him again because he is not real. I needed to convince myself of this because I would drive myself to drink searching for something that my body craved like it needed water after walking across a barren dessert.

It hit me then that I would never feel his arms hold me to his body or his sweet breath blow seductively across my cheek. The razor blades are back, and my breathing stopped. I clutched my side in absolute agony. As if clutching to myself is going to replace the warming soothing nature my body was so desperately used to. I am so sorely mistaken.

Why was I trying to convince myself that last night really happened?

The only person besides myself, who had definitely seen my angel was that jackass, Dr. Flynn. I remember being rescued from the vile clutches of that abhorrent man by my shining angel. If anyone had a reason to believe in his existence, it was that sniveling scumbag.

What about the changes I noticed in my body?

My body was pointedly aware of a plethora of new sensations. The vivid colors my eyes were recording, the smells that originated from miles away were no longer blurred together. I could easily distinguish between the smell of gasoline being pumped at a gas station and the smell of aerosol hairspray escaping into the air from a bathroom window. Even more disconcerting is this overwhelming sensation of a burning in the pit of my stomach. As if there was now a slow burning fire lit, and it could come bursting forth from my body with a force that could destroy anything in its path.

I didn't hurt, the only pain that bothered me is the compression upon my chest. The absence of my guardian eyes.

The burning kept me warm. When I fall asleep I curl myself under countless layers of covers, my core temperature is consistently cold. A crisp 94.4. Always. Last night I was able to sleep soundly with only one comforter and only wearing a simple negligee. I have to remind myself that this wasn't proof. Maybe those new sensations, the strategic assault on my nerve endings was always there, and I'm just now taking notice.

Harping wasn't helping. Since when am I a harper? Oh yes, when running to become numb didn't help and when a migraine was dancing the jig on the insides of my eyelids.

Breathe Bella.

In, searing pain.

Out, my lungs are on fire.

In, crippling pressure.

Out, please. Make it stop.

Breathing isn't helping. It's making it worse.

I felt a chill in the air, but the coals now taking up residence and performing renovations in my body provided a blanket of protection against any kind of chill. I merely felt the presence of the crisp air, it didn't penetrate my skin.

I stared up at the clear night sky, there were millions of stars twinkling in the sky. I knew that somewhere else in the world, someone was doing the same thing that I was doing. Staring up at the sky and wishing upon a star, I felt small in comparison to the great expanse of the universe.

I felt lonely. I never feel lonely. I have never been alone. His comforting gaze was always present in the background. The moments that I cherished most were never spent alone, I was always accompanied by the burning gaze.

But, lonely? I have never felt lonely. I don't understand it, this doesn't make sense.

Why? Why when I need someone the most, could I possibly be lonely at that very moment? Where was my security blanket? Where are my watchful eyes? I need those eyes, I need that protection, and I need him. I simply cannot exist without him.

I wrapped my arms around myself, and choked out a tearless sob. My chest hurt, my body hurt. I felt empty and lonely. I need his eyes, I need him. This sudden epiphany left me without the ability to breath. It wasn't that I couldn't breathe; it's that I didn't want to. At that very moment in time I felt without pain. The razors relented, the compression left. I feel like I didn't have a reason to live, like I didn't have a purpose. Fuck my dissertation, fuck my friends. I have almost no family left, but if I did I would say to hell with them to. I need that gaze, I need those eyes. They make me tingle, they make me whole.

I gripped myself tighter, coming to the realization that I couldn't live without that part of my life, that part of my soul. The pain came back with earth crashing intensity. My body cried out in agony. I fell sick. I feel like I should be dead. My stomach wretched. My fucking migraine demon hammered nails into my skull.

I want this to be real, I want him to be real. My mind slowed slightly with this with this confession.

After last night, after that dance, the kiss, and the possessive hold he had over me. I would do anything to keep him in my life. I would do anything for a man whose name I don't even know. When he held me against his warm chest I looked up into his eyes. His eyes are a vivid emerald, making a mockery of the most previous stone. I don't have a name for him, and so after that dance, after that searing, life-altering kiss, I just would refer to him as The Eyes. I don't have anything else on him. I can think of a thousand other things I want to be able to call him. My love, my angel, my one and only, MINE.

For years I dreamed of finding the source of the stare, of the gaze that my body had grown accustomed to swimming in. But it isn't real, it can't be. I keep telling myself that I must be suffering from some narcissistic personality disorder for even believing that there was someone or something staring at me for my entire life.

The air moved around me, it made my head hazy and lofty as if I was high on some kind of drug. I opened my mouth slightly to taste the air, letting my tongue make what it will of the sweet nectar surrounding my foggy head. Breathing this pure radiance into my lungs and through my nose is not enough.

I noticed that my lungs felt no more restriction; my capacity for air was strangely higher than usual. Amazingly I could take a full gulp of air painlessly, as if the razors hadn't made my lungs into shredded paper. The air tasted of sandalwood, of his distinct combination of sandalwood and cinnamon. I closed my eyes, breathing deeper. I knew that my mind was just remembering the effect his breath had on my body. My mind stored this memory from the moment that his soft, sensuous lips parted, his sweet breath cascaded across my face and his velvety voice broke into the air. He said my name with an angelic reverence. In that one moment, my mind, body and soul changed. I knew it, I don't know why I ever considered denying it.

I slowly pulled myself to stand up straight, and my arms fell from their encompassing hold around my body to fall limply at my sides. I got in one more deep, torturous breath before all breathing failed me again.

I felt electricity stir in the air and ensnare my body as the familiar stranger approached me from behind.

I didn't turn, I don't want to turn. I was scared that if I did turn, he would disappear. My body is afraid that I would turn and it would happen again, I would turn and search for his beautiful eyes and coming up with nothing to show for my effort. They would disappear before I could find them. I felt each step he took reverberate through me, they were slow, anxious and hesitant. He was testing the waters as well. I screamed in my head that I wasn't going to disappear. I could not move even if my life depended upon it.

I bent my head down and I felt his chest press up against my back. When his body made contact with mine searing fire leapt from my toes to my head, the flames from the roaring fire he erupted within me assuaged my migraine. He smelt like heaven, he looked like a god and he is a miracle drug made to cure migraines. Not only could they bottle his scent and make a fortune, but they could make migraine medication that promised instant relief.

Fuck you world. I don't share.

We stood quite for a moment longer, and all at once an electrical explosion went off in my spine and I was being reorganized, I was being coaxed alive. Stars and fireworks danced down my spinal cord. If I reached out and touched something I could easily see the electricity jump from my fingertips to that object. I was alive. I am finally alive. My angel, my silent beautiful guardian had shown me in an instant that I could not experience reality without his presence.

He lifted his arms and placed his hands on my bare shoulders. If I didn't believe in God before he touched my bare shoulders, I would now. I knew there was a reason for my obsession with wearing only tank tops and spandex pants to run in. He ran his smooth hands from the tops of my shoulders down the sides of my arms until he reached my elbows. My eyes were closed, but I could see that a trail of glittering light marked his path down my bare arms. My legs shook with this simple touch. He snaked his arms around my waist and pulled me tightly against him. I could feel all the curves of his chest and torso against my back. The strength of his body caused my knees to buckle under me. A low chuckle emitted from behind me. It was heaven. His chuckle made caused a hot blush to spread from my face to my hardened nipples. He must be a god. No man has that kind of power.

He lowered his head to the crook of my neck, and I heard his lips part and felt him place small kisses from the top of my shoulder to the tender spot just below my right ear. I gasped slightly and let my head fall back against his chest, leaving my heaving chest and neck completely exposed to him. His tongue escaped from between his lips and licked the trail that his soft kisses had already memorized.

I exhaled a moan and his hands balled up the fabric of my tank top in each of his fists. His head moved to the left side of my neck and attacked the spot under my left ear. My head is spinning. I am currently experiencing the effects of a trance, if this is really happening I didn't want it to stop. Even if this is a part of my excited imagination or my sick unconscious, I don't care. I would spend the rest of my life swimming in my delusions, savoring each succulent kiss, each tender and loving caress and his tongue assaulting my skin.

I let a moan escape my lips, it was my incoherent plea for him to throw me against the tree I was leaning on, pin me there and prove to me that he was real, make it unquestionable.

As he nipped, suckled and marked my neck and shoulders, his left hand moved higher on my stomach and rested just below my left breast. His right hand fingered the hem of my shirt and slipped under the confines of the fabric until he was tickling the planes of my flat stomach. He ran a trail from side to side with his fingertips. He drew a map in his mind, memorizing the dips and the soft skin. I want him to take it all in. I was his. No one except this Adonis would ever set their hands on my stomach. Any other touch would make me cringe in disgust.

The fire that had was stirring in the pits of my stomach was threatening to take me now, I would reach my peak before he had even touched me at the center of my arousal. My body would burst from his tender ministrations before he even had the chance to pin me anywhere.

He was suckling on the spot just above my left collar bone, he was going to leave a mark. He was going to give me some empirical proof that he truly did exist. I want a mark. I want him to mark me. Proof would take a back seat to the right to be his. His mark would mean I was his and he was mine. I want to mark him. I want to suck on the same spot on his neck. I want to run my hands through his silky hair, I want to memorize the planes of his stomach.

His right hand moved under the fabric of my tank top to cup my right breast, while his left pulled the fabric from the top of my tank top down over my left breast, exposing it to the cool evening air. He lifted his mouth from my neck, and a harsh groan of disapproval escape from my lips. My body was out of my control. He chuckled again, and he leaned into my hair and drew in a deep breath. He was moaning now.

He kneaded my breast with an increased fervor. He pinched and rolled my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers he leaned his cheek against mine. I could feel him smiling against my ear, he knew exactly what he was doing to me. The stubble from his five o'clock shadow caused another chill to escape down my spine. My nipples hardened even more in response, and his magnificent fingers took pleasure in the increased hardness of my pert peaks.

I know he was enjoying the view he had of his fingers rolling my nipples, and his making a tender mess out of my breasts. I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of how he held me. It was so erotic. I could have never dreamed that that man that haunted my shadows would release my inhibitions. A small, high pitched moan escaped from my mouth again. I needed to feel friction, I needed him. I need him to take me beyond reality, into a surreal place and then do it over, and over again until I forgot my own name.

I felt his erection against my ass. I squeezed my legs together to release some tension and I rolled my hips into the bulge trapped in his pants. I cursed the slight amount of fabric that prevented my naked body to be entwined with his.

My core dripped from the feeling of his hard sex on my lower back. My breathing became ragged again. This time, it was not from razors ripping my lungs to shreds. It was because my body was heading for the heavens. I silently prayed that I was going to get there soon. I need sweet release. I need to feel him on me, in me, all around me. I need his hands, I need his mouth, I need his fingers, and I need the stiff shaft making a home in my backside. I need all of him.

I no longer doubted his tangibility. I could feel his tangibility grinding in smooth, slow motions against my all-to-willing backside. That much I mind refused to deny anymore.

The hands attached to my arms, that were attached to my body dangled helplessly at my sides. I still had some measure of control over these appendages. I slowly moved them cover the rough hands that were memorizing the swells of my chest. His mouth hovered over my left ear and spoke its first words since last night.

His breath hit me like a ton of fucking bricks and my body shook violently from the force of the climax provoked by the undiluted scent of his mouth hitting the autumn air.

"I've waited for you for 23 years my love, my Bella", he cooed into my ear.

His right hand stopped the magic that it was doing to my right breast and retreated down across my stomach muscles and over my hip bone to cup my heated sex, my hand followed him down and pressed him harder into me. I felt my body ready itself to reach to the heavens again.

He could feel my wetness through the thin layer of spandex that separated us. His fingers pressed into my clit and massaged the folds of my opening through the practically sheer material. My body was acting of its own accord and I was literally pooling into his hand. Normally I would have been embarrassed about this kind of uninhibited response from my body. But it was him. It was my silent gift from the gods.

How can I feel embarrassed about myself when I wanted him to do so much more? I want to give it all to him. I want him to know what he had done to me, although I had a feeling he knew quite well the effect that he was having on me. His hands bore direct witness to the effect of his ministrations. And then I remembered that I fell over the edge when he spoke my name, he didn't have to feel the edges of my lower lips, he didn't have to rub slow, teasing circles over my clit and he didn't have to bit the spot below my ear or squeeze my pert nipple to send me soaring. He just needed to speak my name.

I need him now. I need him hard. I need him to make up for all the years he stood in silence in the background. I need him to make up for leaving me last night in a gasping drooling heap. I need him to make my vivid dream from the nights before as much of a reality as he was in flesh and blood.

I need him in me now.

"Please..."

I couldn't say anything else. My mouth was open and I was freely moaning. There were nights when I dreamed of someone, him, coming to me at night, he took me with such fervor that I woke up shaking and completely covered in sweat. I had no idea who he was, or what he was, but I still dreamt that the man hiding in the shadows, watching me for my entire life, would come to me in the middle of the night, ravage me in my sleep and make my body scream and moan his name. I woke with the taste of sex on my lips and a unique and mouthwatering scent in the air.

I had a face for the shadow, the scent and the emerald eyes.

The dreams set the standards that I held for all the men that I had been with. Granted, there weren't many, and in the last few years I had not had any man in my bed because it was futile to try and replace or recreate the dreams. I was foolish to believe that I could have found another man on the planet who would replace the angel working magic on me.

Regardless, none of them even came close. I couldn't be with a man unless I imagined that it was my nighttime visitor. He was a part of my soul, he embedded himself there years ago. I cannot remember a day of my life without his watchful eyes connecting with my body. I want our bodies to finally mold together in every way possible.

I want to feel him undulating underneath me, I want to feel his tongue on my nipples, and I want to feel his fingers reach inside and stroke me until little lights burst in front of my eyes. I want him, I want him so bad that it hurts. A good hurt.

I want to go home, and I knew instinctually that his body was the beams, the walls, and the dreams that made up home for me. Where he is, is where my home will always be, has always been.

"I will make you mine Bella. I promise. But right now, I need you to come with me; it's not safe for you to be alone anymore. Will you let me take you away for a while my precious angel? Please let me make you safe" his voice slightly shaking and just above a whisper in my ear.

His voice was raspy and sounded like he was restraining a great force, it sounded as if he was holding up a wall from crushing both him and me. In one blinding motion he withdrew both hands from my body, and spun me around giving my body barely a moment to mourn the loss of contact where he had made me climb over my highest peak.

"I cannot let anything happen to you." He placed his hands on either side of my face and lightly and tenderly kissed my lips. It felt as if a feather had stroked my lips for a moment too long and a gust of air dragged the flighty feather away from my blushing face.

I opened my eyes again and was immediately engulfed within his deep emerald pools. I reached my hands up to rest my palms upon his chest. I knew what I was going to do, it is the only obvious choice. My body would scream in protest at me, and my mind would restart its construction project if I had even considered the thought of going home to pack a bag first. I was going with him. Anywhere he went, I would follow. Our paths were linked from this day forward. I cannot be without him.

I opened my mouth to speak, never tearing my gaze away from his beautiful emerald eyes, "I will go anywhere with you. But please tell me your name. I need to know what to whisper while I sleep. I need to know what to call my guardian angel".

He chuckled and responded by wrapping one arm around my lower back and moving another to grasp the nape of my neck pulling my hair out of my pony tail. He wound his fingers through my fallen locks.

He pulled me, yet again, flush to his body and moved his lips to hover just above mine. I felt his sweet, exquisite breath upon my face. If his arms hadn't continued their possessive grasp upon me I would have fallen to the ground gasping for air, but inwardly begging him to breathe on me until I could survive on nothing but his own brand of oxygen.

I turned my attention to his lips. I licked mine in anticipation for what I craved. I needed to feel his lips move across mine. Every cell in my body was screaming for his lips, I was ravenous. He lowered his lips to mine, and teasingly brushed them across my own. I couldn't move, he paralyzed me with his sweeping motions. I felt his lips curl up in a smile as they smoothed from one corner of my mouth to the other. This was more than a kiss, more than a resemblance of a tease. This loving caress was as if he were trying to burn the shape of my mouth into his head. He was savoring every nook and cranny that my mouth had gained from years of use.

"My name is Edward Mason, and I'm forever yours Bella. I could never leave you. I am so deeply sorry for deserting you. It was necessary", his eyes clouded for a moment and became slightly anxious.

I reached up and lightly touched his cheek with my fingertips. His skin was as soft and as smooth as marble.

"Bella, my love. You can call me whatever you desire as long as it is your beautiful lips curling around my name."

He grasped my hair more forcefully and pulled my face to his. My angel released the full force of his kiss upon me and I forgot everything he had just said, every last chuckle that came from his throat, and every last loving sentiment he whispered in my ear.

At that moment my mind simply gave up and focused on his lips upon mine and his hands moving down my back to cup my ass.

At that very moment he had taken my bottom lip in his mouth and sucked and nibbled until I was moaning and speeding up towards my second release.

At that specific moment in time his left hand traced its way down my leg, curled up behind my knee and hitched my leg around his hip.

At that particular moment in time he rubbed his hardened excitement on my wet sex and I came completely undone.


	2. Imaginary Friend

Author's Note:

So, I'm sooo sorry that it took so long to update. I'm a graduate student and I've finished my semester finally. I've also decided to take some time off. So, with that said, I'm going to be updating once a week. Probably every Friday.

This chapter is an introduction to small snippets of what is going on in Bella's life. You meet Alice, and you get a hint of her childhood as well as a few memories that are vital to the story. So enjoy!

Also, if you're a beta… I need one… interested???

Disclaimer:

Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters… I'm just taking them for a joyride.

Chapter 1 – Imaginary Friend

"Bella!" my best friend Alice shouted in frustration, "get your ass over here and help me figure this out or I swear to god I'm going to throw this computer out the goddamn window!"

I, Bella Swan was standing across the room staring at a godforsaken white board. It was full of complex statistical functions and test theory proofs. I had a pencil shoved into a ponytail that stood propped up on top of my head, and out of concentration, I was adding to the chew marks at the ends of my glasses. My head didn't turn when Alice shouted.

I just continued to stare at the chalkboard intently waiting for the solutions to the problems to materialize out of thin air and solve themselves.

It was either the pieces of the problem came together peacefully and without struggle, or I was going to assault the board with the same torrid temper that Alice was threatening towards the decrepit computer.

_Hmmm, so… if the first half of this equation is correct, and I'm sure it is, I've checked it a thousand times, then the figures should work. It should account for the missing pieces. _I silently mumbled to myself.

I scratched my head, moving my hand up to the top of my pony tail, resting an arm across the top of my head. It was a bad habit. I looked like an African tribal member, standing there with one arm draped over my head, and a leg bent with my foot resting on the inside of my knee.

I was shocked back into reality by the high pitched melody of my best friend's voice. The force of Alice's pixie like voice made me jump slightly. I huffed in exacerbation.

"Alice, stop being so melodramatic, if you harm one molecule of plastic on that computer I'm going to have Flynn come down here himself and toss _you_ out the window. Now what's the problem?" I asked as I released my African pose and walked over to Alice and glanced over her shoulder at the computer screen.

The screen was full of numbers, data spreadsheets, and formulas. To the outsider, it would have just looked like a migraine-in-waiting, but to me it was my bread and butter. These numbers and figures are the bacon to my scrambled eggs.

"Look, I know you know this statistics program inside and out, and I know that you have already done all of the homework. So please, for the love of God, please tell me how the hell I get this multiple regression equation to run. No matter which way I run the numbers, nothing seems to come out… Look, I keep getting this error" Alice pointed with her petite hands, and brightly painted pink finger nails to the bottom of the screen at the results of her statistical analysis.

"Alice" I looked questioningly at my friend, "where did you get these numbers from? They're not part of the homework" I silently went through the question and chapter over in my head again, and knew for sure that the variable _**FalFashSize**_ was nowhere to be found in the multiple regression chapter that had been the assigned reading. Jesus, the little minx was at it again.

"Look Bella" Alice stood and danced over to the open window, "I decided that whatever the book was trying to get across with those boring numbers wasn't working. I just figured that I'd make it more interesting for myself", Alice turned to look back at Bella, carelessness washed over her face as she observed the paint chipping off her nails, "I mean, I shouldn't have to take a research statistics class, I'm a fashion and merchandising major for Christ's sake!" Alice huffed out; relenting on her brightly painted nails and crossing her arms in frustration.

I had a flare for numbers, they were my strength. Numbers never changed, they held constant. No matter which way they were manipulated they could always be reduced to the same smallest form.

I always took comfort in the static nature of this most vital part of my research.

The numbers would reveal whether or not I had wasted my entire graduate career studying human brain matter.

The numbers would finally redeem my solitary nights in the statistics lab.

The numbers would give reason to the fact that I never had time to seriously date in college.

Regardless of my pathetic social life, the numbers would finally put together a piece of the puzzle that I had been trying to solve all those long nights. It was such a fucking shame that I wouldn't get credit for the discovery.

That weasel Flynn would. But that's why he's got the PhD and I don't. That's why he takes every chance he can to remind me of that said fact, to return me to my proper place. I deemed that place in the research lab, he deemed it at his side. Not as his co-worker, not even as his student.

I never missed the scummy looks he shot my way. Unlike the chills I got from my imagination, his gaze gave me a feeling of dread. I get uncomfortable and fidget whenever he looks at me that way. I hate it. Every time he looked at me, it was as if was undressing me with his eyes.

The bile started to rise in my throat.

The numbers may have not mattered significantly to Alice, but for me, they were my education's livelihood. Soon I would find out if all the hours I spent late at night, alone in the Psychology Lab at Columbia University would have been wasted in vain.

Well, not exactly alone. I'm never alone am I? Even now I can feel it. It's here, somewhere. God! This so fucking frustrating, I should see a goddamn shrink. I need to get over this center-of-attention complex I have_. _

They have a name for it Bella, it's called Narcissism. Jesus. I'm a fucking narcissist. As if it couldn't get any worse.

I never felt that I was anything special. In fact, I felt plain. I had limp brown hair, muddy eyes, and I was as pale as a ghost. I wasn't ignorant. I know what men find attractive, and I'm not it. I have two best friends that completely overshadow me. Alice being the black haired minx packed into the small frame of a crazy, bouncing pixie, and Rose my other statuesque Amazon-blond-bombshell best friend. These were the women that man men swoon. Not me.

I had no problem taking a back seat to their inherent beauty. Most of the time I really don't mind my non-knockout status, but I do get slightly aggravated with the cards that I was dealt.

Parents dead, check.

Lack of a social life, check.

Creepy boss trying to get into my pants, check.

Narcissistic delusions, check.

If I didn't hit the genetic lottery for beauty, why did I have to get brains and a psychological delusion?

For years, practically as far back as I could remember, I had always felt that no matter what I did, alone or with company, wherever I went, awake or sleeping, there were always a pair of eyes watching me.

But it wasn't like Flynn's perverted undressing.

It was as if I was just being watched, gazed at from a far. A warm chill would run up my spin and settle on my shoulders and a sense calm would spread through the air. I felt comforted. I never felt in danger. Whenever I felt the eyes upon me, I felt at peace. As if I had the worst work week and I had come home to a warm bath, and a terry cloth towel.

This gaze was like crawling into a warm bed with a warm body pressed against me and a steaming cup of hot cocoa on the chilliest winter night as a blanket of snow fell outside and covered the ground.

When I was just a child I used to identify the gaze as my imaginary friend. The thick stare became known as Fred, and he was my best friend. I would sit alone on the ground and make two mud pies, a side dish of worms, and a mud shake; one plate of this delicate cuisine for me and one for the pair of eyes that followed me everywhere.

_************************************************************************************_

_Bella sat Indian style on the ground in the backyard of her Aunt and Uncles house. It was a gloomy day. Another cloud covered day in Forks, Washington. That morning, Bella had informed her Aunt that she had a date with Fred that afternoon. Bella wanted to be dressed in her best sundress._

"_Aunt Esme?" Bella tip toed into her Aunt and Uncles room before the sun came up. Bella stood on her tippy toes, trying to see up to her Aunt's sleeping form._

"_Bella, sweetie, what are you doing up? Are you okay?" Esme croaked through a sleep covered voice. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, while making room for her little Bella to climb up to the bed_

"_Aunt Esme, can I wear something pretty today?" Bella questioned her Aunt while trying feebly to climb onto her Aunt's bed without falling back onto the floor. Esme reached down to help her niece before she had a chance to hurt herself._

"_Sweetie, it's seven in the morning. Why are you worried about what you're going to wear today? Did you have a bad dream, is that why you're up this early?" Esme always dreaded the day when she would have to comfort Bella because of bad dreams. The manner in which her parents were killed would drive even the toughest soldiers to pop pills._

"_Nope, I have a date! Fred told me last night that he would like to have tea with me today. I want to look like a princess for him. He loves me!" Whimsically Bella recounted her conversation with her closest friend._

_As Bella detailed her encounter with her imaginary friend, Esme listened intently. Internally she was wondering if this imaginary friend is the manifestation of the memory of her parents, or if this is how Bella would be dealing with the loss of loved ones. To Esme, an imaginary friend isn't the worst thing that Bella could have dreamt up. _

_Esme recalled the night that she and Carlisle got the phone call. It was one of the worst nights of her life. But the phone call remained a painful second to the memory of her front door ringing, and opening to reveal the deserted slumbering beauty that was her infant niece._

_Bella was beginning to get impatient with Esme. Bella broke her Aunt out of her recollecting silence._

"_Aunt Esme? Please? I'm going to marry Fred one day, and I think that I want to make him mud pies. They're my favorite." Bella was beaming up at Esme. She clearly wasn't going to relent about the topic, so Esme finally caved in cupped her delicately pale face, kissed each of her eyelids, and her rosy cheeks._

"_My precious darling, I will dress you so beautifully that even the princesses in faraway lands will be nothing in comparison to your brilliance. My love, did you know that Bella means beautiful in Italian?" Bella smiled as brightly as the rising sun creeping up outside Esme's window. _

_Esme turned her precious niece around so that she could comb out her hair with her fingers._

"_Really? Bella means beautiful? Aunt Esme, what does Fred mean, because if Bella means beautiful, Fred must mean something better! Fred's my Prince Charming, like Cinderella's Prince Charming, but without the mice. Aunt Esme, I don't like mice; even though they sing and dance, I don't like them. Can I wear a green dress Aunt Esme? Fred has green eyes, I think I want to match them." Esme wondered at the limit of Bella's imagination and the strength of Bella's tiny lungs. Bella talked a mile a minute._

"_I have the perfect dress for your date my darling, he will be sure to propose today. But first, a beautiful princess needs a big breakfast if she is going to shine like a star!" Esme gathered Bella up into her arms and carried her into the kitchen to make her favorite breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes._

_Esme spent the day pampering Bella, and getting her ready for her afternoon tea date with her imaginary friend. As Bella watched herself get ready in the mirror, she became more anxious. _

_The second her hair was in two well placed pig tails, she bolted from her Aunt's grasp, flew through the back door and found herself sitting in a secluded corner of the yard preparing her afternoon muddy snack. _

"_Fred, I hope you like dark mud, I don't care for it, but that's all I've got" Bella didn't look up from the ground as she sat cross-legged on the ground by herself mashing her two hands together in an attempt to mold together a muddy mess into the resemblance of some sort of tasty treat. _

"_I told Aunt Esme today that we're going to get married. She said that if I looked like a princess that you would propose to me. Know what else Fred?" _

_Bella looked up staring straight ahead, as if she could see someone somewhere near her. _

"_Aunt Esme said Bella means beautiful. I don't know if I believe her. I asked her what Fred meant, because if Bella means beautiful, then Fred must mean something much better and I'd rather be named Fred". _

_At that moment in time, the wind picked up around Bella and started to swirl leaves around her small sitting frame. The autumn leaves surrounded her in a tunneled vortex of gold and red. The wind swirled her mahogany hair out of the pigtails, and blew it all around her petite shoulders. _

_Bella smiled wildly and giggled wholeheartedly, she clapped her hands as if she was cheering on her favorite performer. _

_A single leaf strayed away from the rest of the swirling bunch. The golden leaf swayed slowly and gracefully towards the elated child, caressing her soft pink cheeks before it fell as a gift in her petite hands._

_Bella looked down at the perfect leaf in her hand. Her red lips formed a small 'o', and her chocolaty eyes sparkled as she looked up into the air again._

"_Is this for me Fred?! Oh it's beautiful! I'm going to put it in my memory box with the stone you gave me. I love you Fred. Can we get married soon? I want you to meet Aunt Esme." Bella's smile shone like the brightest star visible in the darkest heaven._

_*************************************************************************************_

As I got older, the eyes continued to follow me.

I became acutely aware of the **reality** of their presence on my first day of middle school.

I was paranoid to the point of immobilization about what my classmates would think of me. The daunting struggle that I knew middle school was bound to be created a desperate need for me to feel a sense of security.

For the first time in years I found myself talking to the air, talking as if there was someone there to fulfill the presence that I constantly felt and at that moment in time, desperately needed. I begged the mysterious presence for strength and courage, for a steady pair of legs, and for warning if I left the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to my shoe.

I remember those years exceptionally well. However, I remember that day vividly, perhaps more than anything else from my childhood.

That day was the first day that the air responded back.

As I closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing, I muttered my silent prayers in hushed tones to the air. I felt the unmistakable brush of what seemed like fingers against my cheek, and a velvety whisper,

"_Anything for you Isabella my only love..."_.

The pressure on my face was no more than the amount of pressure a feather could amass, just barely noticeable. The voice, the air's sweet response, was without a doubt, unmistakable and not imaginary.

That was the first and only time that I directly spoke to the mysterious presence and it had responded.

I never spoke to anyone about the feeling that someone was always with me, that someone or something was always following me. There were times when I actually thought I should go talk to someone about my delusions.

Christ, it was half the reason that I was pursuing my PhD in Clinical Psychology. It's a sick reason, but it got me interested.

If a person as normal and as plain as me is diluted into believing that a mysterious stranger had been following me for most of my life, then I would hate to think of what goes on in the caged and secluded minds of those who are truly ill.

Hell, it goes beyond that. I had taken comfort in the presence. But after a while, I just told myself that since I was going down, I might as well take her straight down. Driving, drinking and singing all the way to the end. So I just absorbed the feeling and wrapped myself around it. I never acknowledged it again. I knew that if I did, I would send myself to the Looney Bin.

This was how I reasoned with myself, this was the reason I embarked down the road into the human service industry. From the moment the stare had materialized into a feather light touch and a beautiful alluring voice, it had forever altered how I perceived myself and the course my life would take me.

I had never heard a voice as sweet. No man besides the tantalizing voice of my mysterious angel had ever muttered words that could stir me to life like that voice had.

Before that day, I had pegged my delusions as my unconscious screaming at me about something deep and untouched in the depths of my mind. But that fateful first day of middle school left its mark. It was then that I found myself relying on the presence of those eyes.

The security of the gaze was like the static nature of my numbers. Over the years, the presence had embedded itself into the very core of my soul.

At that time, I could have no conception of what that touch meant, of who was behind the whispered endearment, and I certainly had no idea about the massive proverbial ball that began rolling its course into my life. It would take almost 14 years for me to meet that touch and hear that voice again, but when it would, I would become anything but normal, and I would be anything but ordinary.

"Alice, I love you like a sister... truly, but you cannot expect to do well in this class if you keep putting these crazy spins on very simple homework. It's plugging and chugging numbers Alice, nothing more."

I didn't want this to come off as harsh but Alice needed to be woken up. She wasn't stupid, Alice could do this math, and all she needed was some patience and a little finesse.

"Bella, I don't have the divine knack to tackle this part of my education. I'm going to do enough to pass, but outside of that, I never want to see this stupid machine again" Alice slapped the side of the tower of for the computer she had been working on. As she did this I could hear the innocent pieces of the machine rattle and loosen from the glue that held the pieces in place, "and I never want to think about statistics again. When I am a world renowned fashion designer, I can hire people to do this stuff… if" she stated pointedly, "it needs to be done at all".

Alice grabbed her designer messenger bag and packed away the offending statistics books.

Alice and I had been friends since Alice had started at Columbia 3 years ago. Alice was a part of the first class of Fashion and Merchandising majors to potentially graduate from Columbia University. I always thought that having this major at Columbia was kind of bizarre.

Columbia was known for the substantial amount of knowledge that it donated into the world of science and engineering, certainly not fashion design and merchandising.

However, as I grew to know Alice, I found that Alice was not stupid and did not fit the stereotypical shopping maniac. Alice was arguably smarter than most of the engineering geeks and science prodigies that were accepted and graduated from Columbia. If Alice had any amount of interest into the sciences, she would have turned this university on its ass.

"Bella, I'm heading out. I can't handle anymore numbers. I need therapy, a very specific designer labeled brand of therapy. You're coming with. So pack your shit and let's go. We have money to spend". Alice demanded this as she was flitting around the room collecting my sparse possessions.

"Really Bella, you can't walk around as Dr. Bella with this offending scrap of fabric", Alice held up my backpack between her forefinger and her thumb. She had the look of someone holding the soiled diaper of a newborn baby.

"Drop the bag Alice! I'm not going anywhere, I have to finish here. I'm almost through. And stop offending my possessions. I love it. It has character. Besides my little pixie, I'm not a doctor yet. As of this very moment, I'm a poor graduate student who lives off of Ramen Noodle soup" I grabbed the backpack out of Alice's unyielding arms and held it behind my back so she couldn't reach it. As I knew she would literally climb over me to take it back and bounce away, leaving me to do nothing but chase after her.

Oh yes, I had memorized her games after all of these years.

Alice relented after a few moments of silent glaring. Apparently she thought better of launching herself at me this very moment in time.

"You can keep the garbage bag Bella, but you're coming out with me tonight. We're going out with Rose into midtown and we're going to have a magical night. Do you understand? I'm not leaving here unless you agree".

Alice was standing with her hands gripping her hips, her stiletto tapping and staring straight into my eyes. She had the look of an angry mother. Her stance mimed her desire for me to object her scheming.

"Christ Alice, seriously?" I knew that pleading for leniency with Alice was futile and dropped my head in defeat. A spark of insanity hit me, and I knew that I was playing with fire if I said no. But I wasn't going down without a fight.

"Fine Alice, but I'm not shopping. I'm going to finish up here, and I'll be home in a few hours. But I swear to god, if you put me in an outfit that makes me look like a whore, I'm going to burn your shoe collection!"

Hah! That ought to scare the shit out of her_._ Sweet revenge.

Alice looked at me like I had stormed up to her, took off a crisp, clean white glove and slapped her clean across her right cheek.

Her face was frozen. Her eyebrows arched in horror, and her fists clenched at her side.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that hipocrasy to your best friend. Be home before five Bella" she spit out as she walked towards the door. She turned to throw me a final 'or else' look, "or I promise you, Bella Barbie will pale in comparison to what Rose and I will put you through tonight".

And with that, the devil pixie skipped out of the room, leaving me alone.

Alone?

No. Never.

Even as I stood facing the whiteboard, absentmindedly willing the answers of the problems to come forth, I felt a familiar chill sweep across my shoulders, a faint wind brush a few escaped strands across my face, and the comforting presence of my accepted delusions.

I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply and smiled. Regardless of the grandiose nature of my narcissism, I loved it. Whatever it was, I relished in it as if it was my last act.

At that moment I had a visual of a plane that was on fire and crashing down to the earth. I was in the driver's seat belting out, "Highway to Hell!".


End file.
